Notes -Venus Anadyomene - (from Greek, "Venus Rising From the Sea") is one of the iconic representations of Aphrodite, made famous in a much-admired painting by Apelles, now lost, but described in Pliny's Natural History, with the anecdote that the great Apelles employed Campaspe, a mistress of Alexander the Great, for his model. According to Athenaeus,the idea of Aphrodite rising from the sea was inspired by the courtesan Phryne, who, during the time of the festivals of the Eleusinia and Poseidonia, often swam nude in the sea. A scallop shell, often found in Venus Anadyomenes, is a symbol of the female vulva.

Commentary - In the poem, Rimbaud takes a common artistic theme—the birth of Venus from the ocean—and gives it a more human twist. Venus is the symbol of female physical beauty which has become the ideal in Western culture. But how accurate is this image? Women frequently end up starving themselves or surgically altering their bodies in an attempt to meet this idealized construct of what is beautiful.

Rimbaud takes the average woman and makes her an erotic icon. The Venus here has all her human imperfections: she’s overweight, aged, balding, has back problems, and she has some body odor. But these “irregularities” are what make her unique as a person, and she proves to be just as erotic as the flawless, idealized Venus lounging in her shell. And yes, Rimbaud’s Venus also has an anus, just like every other woman, unlike the other artistic representations of Venus that focus primarily on her front.

My Little LoversA lacrymal tincture washes The cabbage-green skies:Under the drooling tree with tender shoots, Your raincoatsWhite with special moons With round eyesKnock together your kneecaps My ugly ones!We loved one another at that time, Blue ugly one!We ate soft boiled eggs And chickweed!One evening you consecrated me poet, Blond ugly one:Come down here, that I can whip you On my lap;I vomited your brilliantine, Black ugly one;You would cut off my mandolin On the edge of my browBah! my dried saliva, Red-headed ugly oneStill infects the trenches Of your round breast!O my little lovers, How I hate you!Plaster with painful blisters Your ugly tits!Trample on my old pots Of sentiment;—Up now! be ballerinas for me For one moment!…Your shoulder blades are out of joint, O my loves!A star on your limping backs, Turn with your turns!And yet it is for these mutton shoulders That I have made rhymes!I would like to break your hips For having loved!Insipid pile of stars that have failed, Fill the corners!—You will collapse in God, saddled With ignoble cares!Under special moons With round eyes,Knock together your kneecaps, My ugly ones!

MotionThe swaying motion on the bank of the river falls,The chasm at the sternpost,The swiftness of the hand-rail,The huge passing of the currentConduct by unimaginable lightsAnd chemical newnessVoyagers surrounded by the waterspouts of the valleyAnd the current.They are the conquerors of the worldSeeking a personal chemical fortune;Sports and comfort travel with them;They take the educationOf races, classes, and animals, on this Boat.Repose and dizzinessTo the torrential light,To the terrible nights of study.For from the talk among the apparatus,—blood, flowers, fire, jewels—From the agitated accounts on this fleeing deck,—You can see, rolling like a dyke beyond the hydraulic motor road,Monstrous, illuminated endlessly,—their stock of studies;Themselves driven into harmonic ecstasyAnd the heroism of discovery.In the most startling atmospheric happeningsA youthful couple withdraws into the archway,—Is it an ancient coyness that can be forgiven?—And sings and stands guard.